


Burning Up

by chaiclouds



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Confessions, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Gentle Kissing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Prison Dream, Scars, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaiclouds/pseuds/chaiclouds
Summary: Dream is burning up, suffocating in the fires of the prison.George visits, and he finally gets a chance to breathe.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	Burning Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M00BL00M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M00BL00M/gifts).



> This was a little one shot inspired by a couple prison-dream tiktoks I saw the other day.
> 
> He's surrounded by lava, that can't be comfortable...
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dream cowers in the corner of his cell, staring at the obsidian floor intently. 

His skin burns eternally, scars building upon scars. His hands, arms, and face are the most affected, he had used them to shield his body from the bubbling lava around him. He shouldn’t have laughed at Sam when he was escorted to the prison. He shouldn’t have tried to test an escape through the lava. He shouldn’t have hurt everyone and let himself end up here… or at least let them catch him in the act. 

He sighs shakily, tracing the pink lines on the back of his hands. They aren’t white yet, it hasn’t been long enough for that. Instead they are a raw pink, shiny against the light of the lava. Dried blood decorates the space between smooth burns. They are ugly; he knows. His stomach twists and turns, these marks would follow him, through life and into death. 

He clenches his hands and jerks them away from his gaze, knocking his head against the wall of the cell, his growing hair flopping into his face. His ceramic mask was tossed aside long ago, it held in too much heat. Either way, his skin needs to breathe in order to heal. He could barely sleep due to the searing pain he had to deal with, he wants to make it as easy as possible. 

The back of his head burns, the obsidian scalding his scalp, but he doesn’t bother sitting up. He _deserves_ the pain he feels. Dream is a terrible stain on the SMP, or so everyone says. A muffled chuckle escapes his lips; it is comforting in a way. Knowing everyone hates you, knowing you have nothing left. Dream feels a warmth in that truth. 

A creaking noise sounds from within the lava, catching Dream’s senses. He leans forward the slightest bit, attempting to catch any further echoes. That is something Dream loathes about the prison, all he can hear is the constant bubbling of the lava. He leans forward a bit further, separating the sounds in his mind, categorizing, sorting. The realization grasps him and steals his breath. 

_Voices_. 

He stands quickly, rushing close to the lava, his chains clattering behind him. The flowing lava sputters at him, searing his cheek and making him stumble away in pain. He bites his lip and clutches his face, but stays as close to the lava as he can manage. 

“Hello?” Dream yells out, desperation cracking his voice. Sure, he has no regrets, but the loneliness is _consuming_ him from the inside out. 

“Get to the back of the cell, head down,” Sam barks from across the infinite wall of fire. Dream closes his eyes harshly, biting down on his tongue to choke his pleads. He shuffles to the back wall of obsidian in shame, sitting in the furthest corner from the wall and his bed. The same place he has been sitting in for hours, days, endless amounts of time. 

He stares back at his hands, new burns splattered across his skin. He was so preoccupied with the pain on the sensitive skin of his face, he didn’t feel the lava burning its way into the flesh of his hands. Yet another series of injuries he will need to nurse. 

He becomes acutely aware of the scent of his own burning flesh as he hears the mechanisms open the lava wall. Dream squeezes his eyes shut while someone walks across, and more mechanical noises are made. 

Then, silence. 

He doesn’t look up, not yet. The last time he looked up too soon he was burned by Sam. The person shuffles around near the lava wall, and he digs his fingernails into his knees. 

“Sam, am I allowed to-” he croaks out, and lifts his head slowly, his chest dropping at the sight before him. 

“Dream,” the visitor spoke breathlessly once they made eye contact. Dream swallowed thickly, nerves wrecking his body. He didn’t think he would visit. 

“George, hey,” he exhales with a smile, the pain too obvious on his features. His hands and face stung, layers of skin exposed and raw. George glances back at the lava, presumably making sure they were alone, before rushing over to Dream and kneeling in front of him. “Long time, no see.” Dream adds. George leans into Dream’s space, and he turns away in shame. His large brown eyes are too much for him to handle; too beautiful to be looking over his terrible scarring. 

“No,” George whispers, his hand gently brushing over Dream’s jaw, pointing it towards himself. He glances into Dream’s eyes before studying his face with an intense look. The pungent smell of fire resist potion hits Dream's nostrils, and he becomes vaguely aware of the pale orange particles dancing around George's person. If only he could get his hands on some.

George looks terribly sad, gazing at Dream's skin. “What happened?”

“...The lava,” Dream manages to choke out, his heart reacting sporadically to the gentle touch of George’s fingers. He is being so careful with him, like he is made of porcelain. Dream has wrecked lives, manipulated innocent people, blown up and destroyed cherished memories, but here George is. Caressing him like he is delicate and special. 

Like he is perfect. 

George’s featherlight touch ghosts over one of the fresher burns, making Dream hiss in pain. George looks sorry before dropping his hands, putting them on Dream’s knees instead. 

“I know, they’re ugly,” Dream laughs, attempting to break the tension.

“No,” George says with a sad smile, pressing into Dream’s knees. “They’re _beautiful,_ ” he stresses, his face dead serious, with a hint of pity. 

“Don’t lie,” Dream says with a scoff, but there’s no malice present in his voice. 

Dream gazed up at George, observing his features. He looks like a wreck. Maybe less of a wreck in comparison to Dream, but he still doesn't look great. Intense bags under his eyes, hair tousled, his clothes creased and looking like they’d been worn for days. But despite all that, he had a crooked smile plastered on his face. A smile that is reserved for Dream, and Dream only. And Dream loves George’s smile. His fingers twitch, yearning to grab George’s collar and pull him closer, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Not yet, at least. 

“They suit you,” George says. Dream just smirks at that. “Do they hurt?”

“Only the fresh ones.”

George nods thoughtfully. He traces circles with his fingers against Dream. “I missed you,” George says, resting his chin on Dream’s knees. "Everything has been crazy without you around, I don't know how much longer I can handle it." Dream feels his guard falling, the boy in front of him breaking him apart. He lets out a shaky sigh, attempting to stabilize himself. "You know, I was talking to Bad-"

“-I didn’t think you would visit,” Dream exhales, effectively interrupting George before he started to ramble. This was important, they could talk about the others another time. 

George blinks in confusion, sitting up straighter. “Why wouldn’t I, Dream?”

“I…” Dream pauses, not sure how to answer. His brow furrows, and he looks away from George. He can’t think straight when looking into the other’s eyes. When he looks at George, he feels like he is reading the same sentence over and over again without progression. “I did some shit, obviously. People must have told you about everything. Thought you would hate me… or something…” he trails off.

“Dream,” George grabs Dream’s hands tightly. Dream tenses up a bit at the stinging pain, but doesn’t stop George. “I could never hate you, no matter what,” he smiles. It feels wrong, it feels wrong for George to be saying such things while Dream is imprisoned for his atrocities. 

Dream hears noises from behind the lava, and his chest tightens. “George,” he gasps desperately, staring fiercely into his eyes. George places his hands on the sides of Dream’s face, fully cradling his cheeks.

“I can’t visit again for a little while-”

“George.”

“-please, Dream, listen to my words. Look at me,” he says seriously, and Dream bites his own lip harshly. “Dream. You..." he leans into Dream, "you occupy all my thoughts. Sure, they told me everything, and it hurts," he shakes his head with a frown on his features. "It really does, Dream. I hated hearing about what you did. But, I could _never_ imagine hating you. Please, Dream. Please, if there is one thing I need you to hold onto in-between my visits, it’s that I do not hate you, and there is nothing you could do to make me,” George rushes out the last part wildly as he hears the lava behind them beginning to shift.

Dream feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he wipes them away on his orange jumpsuit. 

George pats Dream's knees, letting go, getting up, but Dream clears his throat and speaks up, a split second decision made as he realized George might not come back for a long time. 

“Do you love me?” Dream whispers in an abrupt tone, grabbing George’s wrists and pulling him back down. The fire inside himself wreaks havoc, never calming. George looks taken aback, and he glances behind him to see Sam’s silhouette beginning to appear at the entrance to the cell. He looks back at Dream, studying his face, brows furrowed. 

“I- Dream. I need to leave,” George whispers, but not moving an inch. 

“And I need to know,” Dream whimpers, shifting closer to George. George closes his eyes, and leans his pretty forehead against Dream’s scarred skin. His soft hair being a vast contrast to Dream’s unwashed locks. Dream can feel George's gentle breath on his skin, cold against the fire inside. “Give me something to hold onto, something to look forward to.”

George sighs, pulling away, before pressing a soft kiss to Dream’s cheek. Dream inhales sharply at that, bending his head to look at George. The place where he placed his lips caresses Dream from the inside out, soothing the flames licking at his limbs. “This is the worst timing to ask me something like that,” George scoffs halfheartedly, moving to stand as Sam walked into the cell to escort George out. 

“George, everything I have done, all my sacrifices, they were for you. I needed to solve all the problems out there for you. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I _need_ to know if it was worth it,” he croaks out, grabbing George’s collar now. Pulling him, keeping him close, not letting him abandon Dream. He doesn’t know if he could handle that. Not yet, at least. “Just, tell me you love me,” Dream said as a final reach, his voice cracking, aching to grasp at George as he slipped away. 

“Dream, I-”

“ _George_ ,” Sam interrupted from behind them. “Your time is up.”

George hangs his head between his arms with a small sigh, muttering something. Dream nudges him softly and he looks back up, repeating his words. “Sam, can I have just one more minute?”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dream sees him nod and take a single step out of the cell. Blocking Dream’s exit route, conveniently. His wrists are small enough to escape the chains, but he isn’t sure about his ankles. He would need to test that later. When he is alone. 

George’s hands are still holding Dream’s face. Dream reaches up and cups George’s face as well, a warm feeling fluttering in his chest. 

“I’m gonna regret this,” George whispers, and leans into Dream’s space quickly. He places his lips on Dream’s, and Dream pushes back against him. Dream can taste the fire resist potion on George's lips, and a small voice inside wonders if it would have any effect on him. They kiss gently for a second, not wanting to cross any unspoken boundaries, before George pulls away, wiping his pretty mouth on the sleeve of his blue sweater. 

“Fuck,” Dream mutters lowly, and looks at George for a second, admiring his pretty face, before bringing George’s lips back to his own. He kisses him again, slightly harsher now, the warm feeling spreading through his blood now. He isn’t burning anymore, the fire subsiding and washing away into a comfortable blanket. That absence of all-consuming fire...

He is addicted to the feeling. 

When George pulls away, his face is dusted pink and he has a dumb grin on his face. 

Sam walks back into the cell now. Dream places a smaller kiss on George’s knuckles and pushes him away with a fond look on his face. When George turns to leave, Dream follows him up to the wall of lava, causing Sam to stumble away from him in fear. The lava sprays at him, singing his jumpsuit and hair in warning. 

“Against the wall, Dream,” Sam threatens, holding out his axe, attempting to keep himself cold, but there is audible fear laced in his tone. Dream already feels himself shutting back down, feeling affirmed in his actions against the SMP. It's dangerous, he almost started to regret his actions when speaking to George. He takes a step closer, just to scare Sam, but when the chains tug at his wrists he lets himself obey Sam’s order. 

George watches as he returns to the corner, and Dream feels tangible anger bubbling up like the lava; George probably sees him like this and thinks he’s weak, think’s he can’t stand up for himself, can’t do anything right. He almost stands up again, but the lava is already coming back down. He watches George’s yearning face disappear, and the fire is back under his skin. 

He punches the wall multiple times, swift and hard, cursing as the voices of George and Sam fade out of earshot. His knuckles slice easily against the smooth angles of the obsidian, blood trickling down his fingers. It’s hot and sticky, making Dream’s stomach turn over. He licks the blood gingerly, the metallic taste assaulting his tongue, just before just wiping the rest off on his jumpsuit. 

He rubs his face, blood probably smearing along his cheek. It’ll mix with the dried stuff anyways. It's all the same to him. 

His resolve builds back up, brick by brick. Every step George takes away from his prison, he feels himself shut off just a bit more. He leans his head back against the obsidian, falling back into the position he belongs in. 

Scarred, burnt, and bloody, Dream feels numb and alone once more. He isn't sure when the fire will stop burning.

It consumes him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my friend Bee, they know why :) 
> 
> Speaking of Bee, check out his fic here! Perfect time to read, there's a sequel coming soon :0  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068071 
> 
> Kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated! I try and respond to every one :)


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